


How it was

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Franklin, Blood, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Gangs, Gentle Sex, Grinding, Groping, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, Kissing, Lamar's An Idiot, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Murder, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Summary: Lamar has got himself tangled up head to toe with the Ballas, and Franklin has to save his stupid boyfriend (again).This is a birthday gift to the lovely @lovefandoms828, who I wish a happy 20th birthday! :) Thank you kindly again for your request, I had so much fun writing it! I hope your day goes wonderfully and that you enjoy this little gift of mine!I wish everyone else a wonderful day as well, and as always: happy reading! :)[[WARNING: contains explicit depictions of violence and murder, as well as explicit smut. Not both at the same time, though, fortunately.]]
Relationships: Franklin Clinton & Lamar Davis, Franklin Clinton/Lamar Davis
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	How it was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveFandoms828](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveFandoms828/gifts).



The timestamp 3:21 illuminates the dark ceiling in neon turquoise colors that Franklin stares holes at from his bed. The sheets beneath him are itchy and he tosses every few seconds, unable to lay still. Anxiety is prickling his skin and closing up his throat, making him feel claustrophobic even in the massive space of his bedroom. It’s almost been a week now since he last heard from his boyfriend. He’s sent him multiple messages and calls, only with radio silence in response.

Franklin tells himself that he’s just being paranoid. That Lamar’s off somewhere getting piss-drunk and high. It wouldn’t be the first time. So he forces his eyes shut and his body to still so he can try and sleep, for the umpteenth time tonight.

 _C’mon, Frank, sleeping ain’t_ that _hard. Lamar’s fine… probably._

With a huff of frustration, he kicks the sheets off of him and rises from the bed, concern getting the better for him. He throws on some clothes, grabs an SMG with a suppressor, packs it in a duffle bag and slings it around his shoulder. Then he locks up the house and gets onto his green bike. Yeah, Lamar’s _probably_ fine, but the risk that he _isn’t_ is still there. What if he got himself into another stupid beef with a gang member or, worse yet, got tricked into some kind of deal? He’s been getting better at staying out of trouble since they started dating, but everyone has relapses now and then. And Franklin just wants to make sure this isn’t one of them. He’s rather safe than sorry, he thinks and takes off toward Strawberry.

* * *

He’s parked right outside forum drive and gets to finding someone of The Families immediately. Many of them seem to be out or away, so the first people he finds responsive are Tonya and JB.

“Y’all out on vacation or somethin’? You’re the first of the gang to answer the damn door,” he says first thing as Tonya swings her front door open.

“Franklin Clinton. Ain’t you a nice surprise? I think there’s some pot-stirrin’ goin’ on downtown. But what else is new?” she poses, a hand on her hip, but then she scans Franklin up and down and her smile fades.

“What’s up, baby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, walking in place at her porch. He doesn’t want to worry her but he can’t pretend like things are fine, either. If Lamar got into that pot-stirring, and it involves another gang, he could be in real trouble.

“It’s Lamar. Have you heard of him?”

“No, I don’t think so. Hold on,..” she pauses and yells back into the house, where JB’s probably busy getting fucked up, as usual.

“JB! Have we heard anything from Lamar lately?”

Franklin can hear a long, even inhale, a round of coughs, and then JB’s voice, strained and hoarse thanks to whatever he’s smoking.

“Nah, not since last weekend. Told me he was gon’ seal some deal with the Ballas. Why?”

 _Shit_. Tonya’s loud, angry reply didn’t register in Frank’s mind since it was occupied making up worst-case scenarios and thinking of places his fool of a boyfriend could be.

“I’m sorry, boo, if I woulda known earlier-..”

“Don’t worry, he ain’t your responsibility.”

“He’s _all_ our responsibility. Try Chamberlain hills, and let me know if you need any help, alright?”

“Aight, I will,” Franklin rushes, making a beeline right back to his bike without even waving goodbye, there are more important things at stake.

* * *

From an outside perspective, the streets of Chamberlain hills look as peaceful and quiet as ever, but Franklin learned a long time ago not to trust peaceful and quiet. So with a little digging and paying people for information later, he gets to know Lamar is held captive at one of the Ballas’s posts. He gets to the address in an instant and scouts the place out before dropping in, wanting to go about this as smoothly as he can without gaining attention from the cops.

He leaves his bike behind some bins as to not make any noise when approaching the right building, but he keeps it relatively close so he and Lamar can bail as soon as this is over with. The houses here in the suburbs mostly look the same, but there’s this one little picket fence house with two guys standing outside the door, not talking or taking a smoke break, but rather waiting… _guarding_. One of them has a ballcap with the signature B on the front as well. Big mistake on his part.

Right. It’s now or never. Lamar’s waiting inside for him and he needs Franklin’s help right now. So Frank slinks behind a car parked in the neighboring driveway and unbags his submachine gun, loading it. His hands are slightly shaking, but not because of the Ballas. He’s dealt with them countless of times, but he has no idea if Lamar’s okay. He whispers under his breath “I’m coming, baby, just you wait.”, and sets up his sights on one of the guards outside the targeted house. He holds his breath and pulls the trigger, a single shot smattering through the air and into the ballcap-wearing fool’s skull. His friend barely gets the time to react, much less pull a gun from his pocket, before Franklin has jumped the picket fence and crossed the distance between them.

“I’m making a housecall, mothafucka!” he yells and bashes the guy’s brain in with the blunt end of his SMG, painting the off-white walls of the house red. He’s sure to have any residents inside aware of his presence now, so he jumps off the porch and ducks behind it for some sort of shelter, as well as a hiding spot. The few pedestrians and neighbors outside have all ran off screaming by now, and Franklin silently prays he has time to save Lamar and get out of there before the police are alerted.

“Fucker capped two of our men! Who’d wanna save Lamar Davis anyway?!” one member shouts from inside the house, much to Franklin’s rage which will only fuel the fire he has to kill them, but so be it. They won’t matter in a minute or so anyway.

“Who else but his boyfriend, Franklin Clinton? You two guard the idiot, Gavin takes the living room and I’ll deal with this punk-ass myself…”

 _That confidence will be your downfall fool,_ thinks Frank and readies his gun, peering over the edge of the porch to keep watch. So there should only be four of them inside, but the other members won’t be far, so Franklin has to go quick about this. Wait for the volunteer to come out and then sprint inside, head for the living room first. Chances are Lamar’s behind a closed door, along with the two people now guarding him.

“FC, let’s talk! You don’t wanna kill anyone else, I assure you. You give yoself up, maybe we won’t smoke you in return,” snickers one of the members, who comes out the front door with a shotgun and a razor-sharp, menacing grin. Franklin silently raises his SMG and fires a shot, but since he can’t aim too well from where he is, he only manages to shoot the other in the leg. The fool howls in pain and fires his shotgun into the wood of the veranda, and that’s when Franklin sees his opening. He maneuvers over the fence to the porch and knocks the fucker out, kicking his weapon away from him.

“So much for smokin’ me,” mutters Franklin. Then, a shot shatters the window to the kitchen and whizzes right past his head. Frank ducks down and rounds the doorway, only to run straight into this ‘Gavin’ who just shot at him.

“You got nowhere to go now, Franklin,” sneers Gavin in a thick southern accent - obviously a redneck - and pulls a pistol out from inside his jacket, but Franklin’s quicker, slapping it out of his hand and sending it skidding across the floor. Gavin clutches onto his SMG and they’re suddenly in a violent tug of war where the loser dies, and Franklin isn’t playing to lose. So he dodges a punch aimed at his jaw and jams his knee into Gavin’s stomach, causing him to drop his grip on the weapon and double over coughing. Franklin’s heart is pounding in his ears and his breaths come out short and stuttered, but he muscles through it and attempts to get a shot of the guy’s head while he’s bent over. Only Gavin is still not completely unarmed, it turns out as he gets out a switchblade, and Franklin can see his own wide-eyed expression in the reflection of it before he gets nicked in the face. It’s a clear cut right across his chin and it stings but it’s far from lethal.

These Ballas have no idea what they’re doing, Franklin thinks and stops Gavin’s next attempt at a jab with his knife by catching his wrist and twisting it, disjointing his entire forearm.

A sickening crack is heard paired with a pained shriek of anguish and Franklin swiftly puts him out of his misery with a bullet to the head, stumbling a step back and wiping at his dripping wound with his sleeve.

Franklin looks at the mixture of his and the Ballas’ blood on his hands and frowns. He doesn’t enjoy killing in the literal sense but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to save Lamar, so God help the last two fuckers who’re hiding him from Franklin.

He catches his breath and pushes forward, checking the perimeter of empty bedrooms before hearing a thud from downstairs.

“You think they got him?”

“I done hope so. Gavin? Jamal?!” yells one of the remaining members, but Lamar doesn’t give them the chance to leave the lower level before he scales the stairs and starts kicking in doors, not letting up until he finds his stupid idiot boyfriend.

Finally! It's the last room, in the very corner of the house that Franklin finds his jackpot. Lamar’s strapped to a chair with a black eye (Franklin’s blood boils from the sight) and two guards on each side of him point their handguns at Franklin. You’d think the members of a huge gang like this would be armed with better weapons. However, Frank knows that if he makes any hasty movements, they’ll shoot him full of holes, turn him into swiss cheese. He decides to bluff it, raising his arms and the SMG over his head.

“Aight, you win, you hear me? You win. Take my gun,” he begs in a fake-pleading voice, watching Lamar mouth something along the lines of “What the fuck are you doin’?” and trying to signal him with his eyes that “It’s gonna be okay, just let me take care of this”. And as one of the guards is preoccupied, fumbling to grab Frank’s weapon, Franklin headbutts the other, hard, sending him to the ground. He yanks the SMG out of the other’s hands and whips him across the face with the butt of it, dropping it immediately afterward.

His brain feels like drenched cotton, there's a constant ringing in his ears, and he’s covered in blood splatter, but Lamar’s _alive_ , and that’s enough for Franklin to push through. He lifts his head and meets Lamar’s eyes, which are wide as saucers, pupils blown. Franklin raises a brow at his lucid expression.

“Call me messed up, but that was single-handedly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, and Franklin briefly considers leaving him here with all these bodies. Of course, it’s Lamar, so he just rolls his eyes, muttering “Shut up, fool. Stupid-ass nigga making me save yo’ dumbass again…” while he unties Lamar. Damn, those Ballas even overdid the knots on the restraints, they look like a far too ambitious girl scout's attempt for a ‘rope tieing and knots’ patch.

“Hey, don’t go callin’ your boyfriend stupid, aight?” Lamar barks, but there’s no real bite to it. As soon as Franklin has him untied and free, Lamar tackles him to the floor, one hand cradling his head to prevent him from hitting it against the surface and his lips eager and passionate against his. Franklin groans his approval and wraps his arms tight around Lamar’s lithe frame, so, _so_ happy to have him in his arms again. But as much as he’s looking forward to making up for lost time, they’re still in a house that belongs to the Ballas, full of bodies that used to be their members. And who knows how much time they have before more of them get here? Or the _police_ , for that matter?

“Baby, I’m happy to see you too, but we’re _not_ makin’ out on the same floor as Ballas's rotting corpses. I’ve got my bike a block away, let’s roll already,” he urges Lamar, reluctant to pull away from his touch but more reluctant to stay here and get busted. Besides, Lamar knows what’s up, so he nods, following Franklin out of the house.

“Damn, you did this all by yourself? FC, you are a goddamn _machine!_ ”

“Man, shut yo ass up and get on the bike before the cops get here!”

And so Lamar complies, jumping on behind him and winding his arms around Frank’s waist and Franklin puts the pedal to the metal, rubber tires burning against asphalt as they take off. 

* * *

It’s dark outside by the time they get back to Vinewood and Franklin pulls up in the driveway. The sky’s speckled with stars and Lamar’s back at his side, holding his hand - even though it’s stained dark red - as they get inside.

“I can’t believe you pulled that off back there. I thought I was a dead man,” confesses Lamar, his expression open and vulnerable, and Franklin can’t do anything but kiss him, softly, caging his face in a gentle grip as he pushes him up against a wall.

“Would never let that happen," he breathes in a silent promise, scattering feather-light kisses over Lamar’s cheeks, nose and eyelids. He stops to take in the bruised skin around Lamar’s right eye, a palm flat against his chest when Lamar chases his lips.

“They hurt you,” he says, but Lamar just smiles, shaking his head.

“I got off lucky, homie, thanks to you.”

“How’d you get into this mess in the first place? How long were you kept there?” Franklin asks sternly. Before they go any further he needs answers. He isn’t letting his boyfriend get himself into situations like these again. Not anymore.

Lamar looks away, but he obliges and speaks up.

“A couple o’ days or so, nigga. Don’t get your panties in a twist."

“Couple o’ days?!” exclaims Franklin, incredulous. He leads Lamar to the kitchen and rings up a rag with cold water to clean the wounds around his wrists from fighting against his restraints. Lamar lets him care for him as he continues.

“They were just takin’ the piss, Frank. Sayin’ they were finna kill me if I didn’t tell them where the rest of the Families were, shit like that. But I told ‘em I ain’t no snitch, I don’t crack under pressure, and I’m fine, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, barely,” mutters Franklin, an oxymoron of angry with Lamar for being reckless and relieved that he’s back in one piece. Lamar takes the rag from him then and gently dabs the cut on Franklin’s face - which he almost forgot he had. His touch is gentle and it only stings a little bit. The look in Lamar’s eyes - apologetic and enamored - is what has Franklin’s chest aching.

“I’m here now, F. I ain’t gonna do it again. I didn’t go there to start a fight, I came to negotiate. Try to make ‘em leave our people alone. But the fools were crazy unreasonable.”

Franklin can’t believe what he’s hearing. His eyebrows have levitated towards his hairline and he searches Lamar’s eyes for a sign of dishonesty, but it doesn’t feel like he’s lying about this. It’s just so unlike him. When Lamar’s done cleaning the blood off of Franklin’s hands, Frank grabs his wrists, and Lamar drops the rag to the floor, lifting his head to meet Franklin’s gaze.

“ _What?_ ” he asks, tone edging on defensive, a darker shade dusting his cheeks.

“You went by yourself? Unarmed?”

“Nigga, no, what do you take me for? They took my gun, what else? I did go solo, but only to keep the rest of The Families out of trouble- mff!”

Franklin shuts him up with a kiss, boxing him in against the kitchen island and licking into his mouth, feeling Lamar melt into him with a low keening sound. Lamar has grown an unfathomable amount the last few weeks, and ever since he and Franklin got together, he seems to be at a better place, both mentally and physically. And for once, he actually did something that doesn’t just directly benefit him? Talk about character development, Franklin thinks, smiling against Lamar’s lips. His hands travel down Lamar’s back and skirts over his ass, giving it a firm squeeze before slipping beneath his oversized tee, and Lamar moans eagerly into his mouth, his own hands rubbing through Franklin’s hair as his hips cant up to meet his.

“You gon’ take me to bed or what?” it’s an indirect plea, a barely-there whisper, and in the back of his mind, Franklin registers that they haven’t gone all the way yet. But whatever Lamar wants, he gets, so bedroom it is.

“What, you hard from watchin’ your boyfriend kill 6 men to save you?”

“Correction: I’m hard from watchin’ my badass boyfriend handle an SMG, and _himself_ -” he pauses, a hand trailing down to the front of Franklin’s trousers and feeling him up through the thin fabric. Franklin hisses in response, bucking his hips into the touch.

“-... so well. Can you blame me?”

“Fool, you better watch your damn mouth,” Franklin says, low and lustful, beckoning Lamar to jump up on the counter and wrap his legs around his waist so he can carry him to the bedroom. Lamar’s in the game, more than happy to comply, his arms coming around Franklin’s neck.

“Or what, you’ll shut it for me?”

“Nigga, you on your A game today,” Franklin replies, stealing a kiss from Lamar and carrying him all the way down the stairs and into his bedroom.

“You been liftin’?” asks Lamar when Franklin drops him on the bed, sounding wrecked already, and Franklin has only just begun.

“You know it, baby. Now spread them legs for me.”

And Lamar doesn’t hesitate, beckoning Franklin over to come sit between his legs. Franklin does just so and tugs on Lamar’s shirt in a silent request, and Lamar complies, tossing it somewhere on the other side of the room, probably. Franklin recaptures Lamar’s lips in a slow, deep kiss, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and pulls back, relishing in the little noises and gasps he draws from Lamar. He trails kisses and bites down Lamar’s jawline and neck - not failing to notice the way Lamar tilts his head to give him more access and arches his back up to meet his touch - and sucks on a spot he knows makes Lamar’s knees weak.

“Fuck, Franklin…” he whines, music to Franklin’s ears.

“Yeah, baby, keep makin’ pretty noises for me,” he hums in response, lips traveling down the dark skin on Lamar’s chest to his stiff, pink nipples, and he circles one of them with his tongue while tweaking the other between his fingers. Lamar writhes beneath him, arching up into his touch and curling his white palms in the sheets. He hisses and pants as Franklin swipes his tongue flat across one of his rigid buds, lavishing the other with the same attention before going lower, lower, hands coming up to unbuckle Lamar’s belt. Lamar stops him, though, with both hands on Franklin’s shoulders and his fingers tugging on the ring of his collar.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. You’re not keepin’ all that hot bod for yourself. Off,” he demands, and breathy and wobbly as it is, Franklin thinks it’s pretty hot to hear his boyfriend act all bossy. He cracks a smile, says “Shit, aight, Mr. Boss-man,” allowing Lamar to pull his shirt up off his head and touch him as he pleases. Lamar’s fingertips are rough, calloused, burning against his skin where they trace his pecs and lay flat across his chest, just above his heart. Franklin sucks in a stuttered breath, looking at Lamar’s tender expression through dark eyelashes, wondering if Lamar can feel how fast his heart is beating.

“You’re so damn attractive,” breathes Lamar, leaning forward and nosing along the line of Franklin’s neck, pressing a single kiss to the divot in his throat. “Can’t believe how lucky I am,” he mumbles, and there’s a sudden wave of vulnerability washing over Franklin, pricking tears at the corners of his eyes. Franklin shakes his head softly, his arms coming around Lamar’s back and down to the tail of his spine, sliding beneath his shorts and squeezing the fat globes of his ass there in his large hands. Lamar moans, biting down on Franklin’s neck and sending a pleasant tingle all throughout his body.

“I’m the lucky one, fool,” he argues, and when he grinds down against Lamar’s obvious erection, he knows he’s already won. With Lamar littering his neck with hickies that Franklin knows he won’t be able to cover up and his fingers tightening in the belt hoops on Franklin’s cargo shorts - knuckles whitening when Franklin rolls his hips -, Franklin’s dick is straining painfully against the fabric of his boxers, and his nerve endings feel as if they’re doused in liquid fire.

“Frank, I- shit, that feels good -, I want-... Oh, fuck!” Lamar cries out, head dropping into the crook of Franklin’s neck when Franklin grinds the heel of his palm down against his clothed dick, greedily drinking in the filthy noises his boyfriend is making and determined to drive him into being even louder.

“Yeah? What do you want, Sweetheart? Say it and it’s yours.”

“Want you. Inside me. Right fuckin’ now.”

And no words have ever succeeded in simultaneously turning Franklin on and shocking him to his core like these. Franklin sobers up a little from his drunken lust, enough for him to pull back and search Lamar’s face properly. And fuck, is he glad he did.

Thoroughly debauched, Lamar licks his kiss-swollen lips, his jaw pink with stubble burn and little marks of red and blue blossoming on his dark skin, peeking through the ink. His eyes are dazed, clouded over with want. Franklin swallows, loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“You sure? We’ve never-”

“I know, but I’m sure. Never been so sure of nothin’,” replies Lamar, sounding a tad nervous but confident in his decision, and the underlying tone of neediness does certain things to Franklin he’s better off not spelling out loud. The thing is, if they’d done this before, Franklin would have no problem moving forth with this, and he wants to (he really, _really_ wants to) but they _haven't_ done it before. Not this.

So he pecks Lamar once on the lips, promising that “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry,” and starting off by undressing himself, all while Lamar’s hungry eyes are on him. He isn’t usually self-conscious about his body, and he’s happy with the gain he’s made with recent training exercises, but this is Lamar we’re talking about. The ‘I don’t go down like that’- Lamar who he’s been friends with since middle school and in a romantic relationship with for a couple of weeks now. He wants him to like what he sees. To not scare him off.

But Lamar looks the opposite of scared, and his insistent way of yanking on Franklin’s wrist to eliminate the distance between them and pull him into a searing kiss tells Franklin he’s just fine.

“Fucking got-... _damn_ you hot, Franklin,” Lamar tells him between kisses, voice dripping in want.

Frank’s favorite part about sex with Lamar is that Lamar will moan his name over and over, when he barely uses it at all in casual conversation.

Lamar helps Franklin remove his own belt and pants, and Franklin’s hands pause at the waistband of his briefs. He looks up at Lamar to ask for permission and Lamar only nods, hissing when his cock springs free from the confinement of his underwear and makes contact with the cool air. He’s only slightly shorter than Franklin’s, but wide and girthy, slightly curved upward toward his stomach and leaking precum from the tip, which is an angry shade of red. Franklin’s mouth goes dry and he has to contain a moan of mere delight at the view. He instead allows himself to drink in all of Lamar, the thin sheen of sweat beading on his skin in pure anticipation, the lines of his stomach and faded ink of his tattoos, the quick rise and fall of his chest…

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” drops like a pin, and Lamar visibly shivers at the words. Franklin gently nudges Lamar’s legs further apart to gain access to his main goal and peppers kisses down his stomach, past his erection standing at full mast, begging for attention, and to his thighs, where he could spend days on end and be a happy man. Lamar mewls, the sound muffled by his fist, but Franklin pulls his hand away from his face so he can hear him properly, sucking a mark into the soft but firm meat of his inner thigh, then one where his ass meets his thigh.

“Ah!” Lamar cries out when Franklin plants an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his dick, his back arched off the mattress when Franklin gives his length a broad sweep of his tongue, and he sobs his name when Franklin sheats him in his mouth, taking almost all of him with practiced ease.

Because even though they haven’t done the big deed until now, they’ve jerked each other off and blown each other plenty of times, and Franklin would like to think he’s gotten the technique down by now. Lamar sure isn’t complaining, so he’s gotta be doing something right.

“Shiiiit, that’s good. Don’t stop.”

 _I ain’t planning on it,_ Franklin thinks and gets to work, bobbing his head up and down as he hollows his cheeks and presses his palms into Lamar’s thighs, kneading the flesh there and feeling the responding quiver back. He runs his tongue flat over the ridge of Lamar’s cock, dips it into the slit on the head and catching the salty pearls of precum there. Lamar’s writhing on the bed, fists tangled in the sheets as he pants and moans, and the sounds he’s making alone are enough to get Franklin off. So he grinds down against the sheets to relieve himself with some friction, moaning lowly around Lamar’s cock and sending vibrations throughout his whole body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Franklin!”

His hands try to find purchase in Franklin’s hair for something to grab onto, but since Franklin barely has any hair, he settles for digging his fingers into his shoulders instead, leaving little indents in his skin, a memoir of the occasion. Franklin pinches one of Lamar’s thighs, causing him to gasp, and he fights his gag reflex to slide down Lamar’s length until he’s nuzzled snug against his black pubic hair. He draws a deep breath through his nose and the scent of Lamar is overwhelming, uniquely him and more addictive than any drugs in the world.

“I ain’t gonna- _huff_ \- last much longer if you keep doin’ what you’re doin’, F,” warns Lamar, shrill and shaky and Franklin pops off of him long enough to respond with “Good thing you ain’t just cumming once tonight, then,” diving back in to finish him off. Lamar’s thighs are quivering adorably around Franklin’s head, stuttered little breaths and whines leaving him as Franklin runs his tongue up and down his length, hand pumping the shaft where he can’t reach with his mouth, lavishing the head of his swollen cock with extra care and attention. His free hand comes up to gently fondle his balls, warm and smooth against his palm. The telltale sign of them tightening and Lamar going taut like a bow tells Franklin he’s close, so he helps coax him over the edge, humming around his dick in encouragement.

Lamar comes with a shout, his nails digging into Franklin’s shoulders as he shoots his load into Franklin’s waiting mouth, and he generously licks it all up, not letting go until Lamar’s totally spent and sobbing.

“Fucking hell, Frank, no mercy. Get up here,” he breathes, and Franklin complies, if hesitantly.

“I still got your spunk in my mouth.”

“Don’t care.”

And that was that. They kiss until Lamar’s at half-mast again, pressing again Franklin’s stomach where he sits, straddling his lap. Lamar reaches for Franklin’s aching erection and wraps a warm hand around him, causing him to hitch his breath and roll his hips up into his hand. He kisses Lamar languidly, they’re still in no rush and he’s been attentive enough to discover that Lamar likes it slow and deep rather than rough and messy. At least the _noises_ he makes ensure that he does.

“We can just do this, y’know? It don’t gotta be tonight,” Franklin says, he doesn’t want Lamar to feel pressured into anything, but Lamar simply shakes his head, reaching into the bedside drawer to pull out a small bottle of lube. He kisses Franklin hungrily, popping the cap off the lube and handing it to him.

“That answer enough for ya? I _want_ to do this,” he assures him, canting his hips so that their cocks slide together, and Franklin falters with the bottle for a moment. He quickly recovers, his horniness and fondness for the man taking the wheel, and he pours a healthy amount of lube in his hand and warms it up between his fingers, and all the while, they maintain eye contact, and Lamar’s gaze is filled with so much affection and trust it almost hurts.

“Imma start with one finger, let me know if it hurts, okay?” he says and loops one (slightly trembling) arm around Lamar’s slim waist to support him, and Lamar nods, sitting up off Franklin’s lap to allow him access. The air charged with electricity and the only sounds in the house being both of their labored, excited breathing, Franklin uses one slick finger to circle Lamar’s entrance, feeling him relax into his touch. He massages that area of skin around his hole to loosen him up and very, _very_ carefully, slides one finger inside him, past that first ring of tight muscle. Lamar’s head drops onto his shoulder and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay? It doesn’t hurt?” Franklin all but breathes, the heat and tightness around his finger dizzying. He’s so incredibly tight. He can’t imagine Lamar has ever touched himself down here, and it feels very intimate to be the one allowed to do it to him.

Faintly, Lamar shakes his head.

“Nah. It’s just weird. Not bad-weird though.”

Franklin had suspected as much. When Lamar relaxes, he moves his finger slowly, in and out in even movements. He can’t even fathom how good it will feel to actually be inside of his boyfriend.

But one step at a time. After a few minutes, Lamar tells him to add another finger, and Franklin does, cautiously so. Lamar’s quivering against him, panting, and Franklin kisses his temple, reassuring.

“Breathe, baby,” he reminds him.

Lamar nods again, little gasps slipping from his mouth when Franklin begins moving his fingers at a faster pace, scissoring them in and out to open him up. He experimentally curls them upward and the tips of his fingers brush against something that has Lamar crying out, a wrecking shudder going through him. Franklin’s worried that he hurt him for a moment, but then: “D- Do that again,” and Franklin delivers, quite pleased with Lamar’s reaction.

“Shit, okay, another one.”

And by the time Franklin has worked his way up to three fingers, Lamar has already slicked his cock with the lube, fucking himself on Franklin’s finger and it’s the hottest thing Franklin thinks he’s ever seen.

“M’ready, Frank. Need you inside me, like, yesterday. _Please,_ ” Lamar’s begging now, and Franklin can’t possibly turn him down when he asks so nicely, so he carefully slides his fingers out of Lamar - he hears him make a bereft noise in the back of his throat - and lines up his cock in the cleft of Lamar’s ass, circling his clenching hole in a teasing manner - even though he’s about to burst from arousal himself. Lamar’s got a vice grip on his arms, enough to bruise, but it only adds to the intimacy of the situation. Both parties hold their breath as Franklin nudges the head of his dick inside, and _oh_ \- he had imagined, daydreamed and fantasized about it, but he could _never_ have expected this.

“Holy shit, this- you’re…” but he can’t possibly string together a coherent sentence when this tight, slick heat around him overwhelms all his other senses. Well, all but the one that tells him to check on his boyfriend.

“You okay?”

“Y- Yeah, just… give me a moment,” rasps Lamar, and Franklin’s almost relieved to hear it since he’ll gladly take one to process this himself. He briefly wonders how people could ever do anything but this, but he doesn’t entertain the thought for long, because Lamar tilts his head up then and claims a kiss from him, the softness of it melting Franklin’s heart. He cups Lamar’s face in his palms, a thumb rubbing at his cheekbone, but his breath stutters when Lamar sinks down on his dick, painfully slow, until he’s fully sheathed inside of him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Did so good for me, hmm?”

He can’t help it, the praise coming out whether he wants it to or not, but Lamar doesn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, he looks the opposite of bothered, his eyes blown and rolling into the back of his head, his mouth perfectly shaped in a soft ‘o’.

“You can move,” he tells Franklin, who does so, pulling almost all the way out before gliding back in, bottoming out. With every movement he makes, it gets easier, slicker, and Lamar’s thighs are once again trembling around his own.

“That feel good?”

“You know it does, smug mothafucka. You’re so big,” Lamar moans when Franklin snaps his hips up, filling him to the brim. Being inside Lamar is unexplainably incredible, and even more so when Franklin switches their positions, pushing Lamar’s back to the mattress and settling on top of him, feeling Lamar wrap his legs around him, crossing them at the ankles and pulling them flush against each other.

He sets a steady pace, languid, slow rolls of his hips making Lamar cry out when he hits the right spot, and sharing unhurried - but no less passionate - kisses with him that reach his jawline and neck. Lamar’s nails rake down his back in a perfect mix of pain and pleasure and Franklin likes the thought of leaving marks on one another. Showing others who they belong to. The sounds of the bedsprings creaking and their combined panting and moaning, along with the tightness around his cock, the contact of skin on skin, drives Franklin closer to the edge with each thrust.

Lamar can barely get out anything but “Close,” and Lamar nods, reclaiming his lips in a searing kiss.

“Me too, me too. Come for me baby,” he purrs, angling his hips so he hits that bundle of nerves inside Lamar over and over again, until he comes hard, shooting ribbons of white onto both of their stomachs. Franklin makes sure not to miss a single second, the view of his boyfriend looking so damn sexy and the clench around his cock and waist driving him over the edge. Chanting Lamar’s name like a mantra, his vision whites out and he spills deep inside of him.

He rolls off Lamar with a satisfied groan but keeps his eyes on his tuckered out boyfriend, coming down from his high. Lamar looks completely destroyed, his face red and sweat beading at his forehead, his lips bitten red and his chest heaving. Franklin grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, bringing them up to his face so he can kiss each knuckle.

“That was… really nice,”

Lamar chuckles, grabbing his shirt that had somehow landed on the bedpost and wiping him and Franklin off with it. Usually, Franklin would scold him for this, but he’s just too damn happy.

“You tryna act all formal now that you’ve fucked my brains out? Nigga, that was phenomenal, is what it was,” Lamar corrects him, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“My bad, dawg,” laughs Franklin back, the happiness he feels filling him up until he thinks he might combust, and he drapes a tired arm around Lamar, pulling him close. Lamar doesn’t resist at all, snuggling up against his side and pressing sleepy kisses all over his neck. He yawns and it’s contagious. Franklin just now takes in how fatigued he is after the day’s events. All that fighting was exhausting, but in the end, he’s just glad Lamar’s okay. As if reading his thoughts, Lamar gently nudges him, meeting his eyes.

“Hey, I never said it but… thanks for being my knight in shinin’ armor. I guess I should stop bein’ stupid and tryna resolve shit that can’t be resolved.”

Franklin smiles at him, placing a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose.

“What was that for?”

“You’re adorable.”

“M’not adorable, fool, I’m a dangerous fuckin’ murder weapon,” Lamar calls while wrapped around Franklin, nuzzling into his chest with a huge, dopey grin on his face.

“Uh-huh. ‘Course you are. But you were only tryna help. Just... let me know, next time?” is all Franklin asks, and Lamar nods, solemn and sincere. And sleepy.

“You _are_ stupid though,” Franklin adds cheekily with absolutely no malicious intent at all. Lamar shoves him in the side but quickly pulls him back in again.

“Screw you!”

“You’re a stupid mothafucka and I love you so damn much.”

Now Lamar is completely red-faced, jaw slack as he stares at Franklin in disbelief. Franklin bites his tongue, worried if he went too fast. But then Lamar kisses him, and the amount of love in it wipes any doubt from the other’s mind.

“Love ya too, punk-ass bitch,” he whispers against his lips and Franklin giggles. He swears his heart might crack it’s so full. Lamar’s eyes are drooping but he’s holding on tight to Franklin.

“Sleep now, fool, I can see you dozin’ off. I ain’t goin' nowhere.”

And as if waiting for that promise, Lamar finally relaxes, tangling their legs together, the tension in his shoulders dropping. Franklin yawns yet again and feels sleep stubbornly pulling at him, so he drops a kiss to Lamar’s forehead and sinks into the mattress, falling asleep with a content smile on his face and the love of his life in his arms.


End file.
